


the marigolds that sing demise

by kairumption (lapmonster)



Series: wherever we walk will be paradise [1]
Category: Brown-Eyed Girls (Band), C-Pop, DBSK | Tohoshinki | TVfXQ | TVXQ, EXO (Band), K-pop, f(x)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Mutants, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Child Abuse, Community: kaixingforyou, Domestic Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake Science, Fic Exchange, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Original Character(s), Multi, Mutant Powers, Past Character Death, Past Relationship(s), Supernatural Illnesses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-20 00:39:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7384015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lapmonster/pseuds/kairumption
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes staying in one place is the same as running away. [MAMA superpowers/dystopia AU.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	the marigolds that sing demise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluedreaming](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedreaming/gifts).



> [see full warnings/ships on livejournal!](http://rumwrites.livejournal.com/2104.html)
> 
>  
> 
> well, here it is, a revamped/extended version of my oneshot originally written for ansa for [kaixingforyou](http://kaixingforyou.livejournal.com), now a part of a series! much has changed, look! it has a real plot now! it’s actually… multichapter… what have i done… 
> 
> extra special thanks to my patient beta/biffle [coke](http://trashcanyeol.livejournal.com) who alongside me has watched this baby grow into the monster it is, and thanks to my veritable team of proofreaders (including [olebade](http://olebade.livejournal.com)) who all helped me write it the first time around. 
> 
> i’m serious about those warnings, folks, we go right into the triggering stuff, so please tread carefully!

_The marigold that sings demise_  
_Silently reaches full bloom_  
_By reeling in feelings of love_  
_And yearning,_  
_And swallowing them up with its leaves._  
  
_As the marigold that sings demise_  
_And is enriched by loneliness_  
_Seeks out the rain that won't fall,_  
_It falls into a sleep it can't wake from._  
-kanon x kanon, “Calendula Requiem”

He was always his sweetest before it happened. In the morning, he would make breakfast cheerily, like it was a rare treat. Called himself “Dad,” like he had a right to it, like they were a family. As if their bruises weren’t still there, lurid yellow-green and healing slow, piled under their clothes like layers. 

Jongin would try to skip breakfast those days. He couldn’t stomach how sickly saccharine his stepfather would become, voice dripping with venomous syrup as he “advised” Jongin’s mother on how she dressed (like most days), compliments backhanded and leaving damage like a fingerprint necklace; “Aren’t I a good husband?” he’d ask, and wouldn’t let her have the meager, dirty bills he offered for her daily allowance until she answered, “Of course.”

His stepfather was in a particularly good mood that morning, whistling as he made coffee. Jongin tiptoed past, trying to leave for school undetected, but he was spotted anyway.

“Son”—he never called him by his name—“come join us.” His grin was neat, tidy. Like dirt swept under a rug.

Jongin was ten (nine by Western standards; too young by both), and his legs swung slightly when he reluctantly sat in the chair, the balls of his feet barely brushing the floor. Nearly all the girls in his class were taller than him by now, already on their growth spurt head start. He looked down at his breakfast as his stepfather slid it in front of him. 

The pancakes on his plate grinned back at him with arranged bacon lips and egg eyes—neat, tidy.

“Jaeyong made us breakfast,” said his mother when he looked up at her across the table. Her voice was clipped. Jongin could see where her cover-up ended at her mouth, the slight swell and blotchy purple, the small cut that lipstick couldn’t quite hide. He had started early; slipped up. The bruises weren’t supposed to show. “Isn’t that nice?” It looked like it hurt to smile.

Jongin’s smile in turn was painful. He nodded anyway, made sure his stepfather saw.

Jongin never got it as bad as she; his mother always took the brunt of the blows. And they came at a higher price: vitriol disguised as simpering, blame pushed onto her. Because he loved her, he _loved_ her, what he did to her was not his fault. And that was what kept her there. That, and the fear of the streets, the fear of isolation with a _mutant’s_ son. If she left, word would get out, they’d know about Jongin’s parentage, and it would all be over for him. Jongin did not have the luxury of illusion nor the burden of knowledge; Jaeyong hated him, his sick need to act the perfect husband, to control, was not wasted on Jongin. But Jongin did not know why they stayed, not fully, and so resentment reached every corner of his heart.

Sighing down at his pancakes, Jongin tried to look everywhere around him but his parents. Their apartment was small and boxy, in a stacked house that, since it was far enough west of the Divide, was decent enough to be legally called an “apartment complex.” It was not much more than building blocks atop one another, erected roughly the same time the Divide was and just as crudely. Still, it would have been home had it any of the warmth a home should have. 

From the east-side window they could see the Divide, a wall between Western and Eastern Seoul that split down the middle of the country and kept regular humans and “mutants” segregated. East Korea, or New Eden as its residents referred to it, was all but its own sovereign nation at this point, as any attempt the remainder of South Korea, or any other country, had made to reclaim it had failed miserably. 

Long before South Korea had been split, “mutants,” as they had then been recognized as around the world, were being born. They were a people who could manipulate themselves or their world: “Kinetics,” they were called by the scientists that took them from their homes and families to study them. They were classified by type: teleporter, pyrokinetic, telekinetic, biokinetic, etc. They were chosen for military purposes, private transportation, even “sustainable” power sources. They were used like batteries, like machines.

But there were some that slipped through their fingers. There was one in particular able to avoid detection, manipulating her way out of suspicion: Son Ga-in was a Kinetic with absolute power over others. Whatever she asked for, she got. People would do anything for her, full to bursting of devotion and affection and love. Only powerful telepaths could fight her hold on their hearts. 

As she grew, Ga-in’s power grew with her, and she rechristened herself Hawwah, or Eve. She became so powerful she could control others without even looking at them, or being near them. She was a god. And when she saw the way her fellow Kinetics were treated, her kin as she saw them, she took it upon herself to carve out a space for them. 

At 19, Hawwah created her own Eden.

The whole half of the country was dislocated, having the sudden need to leave their homes and migrate (some on foot) to the western side of South Korea. It was chaos, everyone driven to leave as soon as they could with no thought of why. Hawwah’s Kinspeople did the same in the opposite direction, their keepers letting them out under her orders as they followed the instinct, the fluttering, lovesick want that filled their guts. 

_Eden_ , was the thought she gave them, _we will find paradise_.

Paradise it was not. No government, no infrastructure or system. But even so Kinspeople adopted their name and their home, and formed colonies. People from all around the world flocked to New Eden to find a home. They made do. People like Jongin’s father, a teleporter, worked together with other Kinspeople to support the colony. They were family. They were Kin.

But in the eyes of the rest of the world, they were still mutants.

Jaeyong watched Jongin as they ate, apparently unsatisfied with his previous noncommittal nod in thanks, as if his abusive stepfather were doing something that deserved gratitude. As if Jongin didn’t know what came after the happy breakfast.

“Did you learn those manners from your mutant father?” he asked with bite, a smile that showed canines. It was when Jaeyong was in one of these “good” moods that he was the most dangerous. That was when he felt most comfortable doling out blame, could excuse himself for his transgressions. He would lie in wait for something to set him off. That little nod, that little hint of defiance, was the only spark needed to fuel the flames of Jaeyong’s rage.

Jongin’s mother tensed while Jongin went lax. His face fell into a blank mask, eyes deadened and unfocusing straight ahead. Anger turned over his stomach, but he kept his expression neutral. If he didn’t react, he’d be safe. Jongin was sure that if he didn’t move or show the hurt, Jaeyong would find no reason to hurt him further.

It didn’t protect him. 

“Or did he die like a dog on the other side of the Divide before he could?”

The only movement Jongin made was his fingers tightening around the fork in his hand.

“ _Yeobo-yah_ ,” pleaded Jongin’s mother sweetly, reaching out a shaking hand to place over Jaeyong’s forearm. She recoiled when he turned and wrapped his fingers around her forearm.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” he pressed on. His grip on her arm tightened, and he dragged her closer until she was leaning over the table and her emptied plate, chin barely lifted above its surface. “He _left_ you with this… this _halfbreed_. Even a drop of mutant blood ruins…” He glanced pointedly at Jongin where he sat before rounding on her again. “But _I_ would never leave you,” he assured her, spitting out more poison, “Even though you’re tainted.”

“I know,” she told him, resignation in her eyes.

Jongin felt sick.

“No one else would’ve ever taken you in,” Jaeyong reminded her, the sweet venom coating his voice. The hand that wasn’t bruising her arm (she would have to wear long sleeves for weeks), caressed the side of her face. “I’m all you’ve got. You think anyone else would have housed _that_?” He jerked his head in Jongin’s direction.

“I know, I know,” she whispered so quietly. Tears had not yet reached her eyes but they were wide with fear. It was too late, no amount of agreeing with him would stop him from hurting her. She looked back at Jongin as if she were apologizing. And asking him to go.

Only then did the blank mask fall. He shook his head, eyes wet. He wouldn’t leave her, but he couldn’t help her either. He was paralyzed.

Jaeyong saw. His hand on her cheek fell, and he turned to look at Jongin once more. But he did not let go of her arm, further dragging her over the table, the edge of it colliding with her gut. Her cheek which he had just been holding so tenderly slammed against the table. She grunted in pained surprise.

“This brat, you still want to protect him?” demanded Jaeyong.

“Yeobo-yah, please,” she begged, pretenses dropped. “Not my son, please.”

He turned back to her, grip tightening even more until she squirmed. “It’s because of him that this happened.” He only let go of her arm once he had grabbed her by the hair and thrown her onto the floor.

She didn’t cry out, but she did scramble back until she reached a deadend at the wall. He converged on her, mercy cast aside. Punishments were to be doled out. He kicked her hip before grabbing her upper arm and dragging her up again. “It’s his fault we aren’t happy.”

Jongin leapt from his seat, knocking it over as he rushed to protect his mom. He lunged at his stepfather, grabbing his arm in an attempt to stop his blow. Jaeyong only knocked him aside, knuckles catching Jongin’s mouth and splitting his lip. He sprawled on the floor, tasting blood as his sight clogged with black clouds.

Jaeyong’s words and the sounds of his fists as he struck her floated into Jongin’s ears. The promise of darkness drowned him out, sounding too comforting, too peaceful and Jongin’s head lolled. He felt himself being pulled down into something heavier than sleep—until his eyes snapped open.

His mother was shouting at him to stay awake; over her voice was Jaeyong’s, terrifyingly calm and even as he explained to her why Jongin was the reason for all her pain.

 _He wants her to hate me_ , thought Jongin. His head filled with static as he watched them. Once she met his eyes again, she fell quiet, all fight gone from her. Relief, in the form of a smile, lightened her, but Jongin was still too scared. He could still hear Jaeyong over the blood roaring in his ears. _What if he makes her hate me?_

All thought thinned and expanded inside him, stretching out then blurring to a point. He felt amorphous. He felt sharp. The static grew louder, blocking out sound and sight, and even touch. He was floating, in… nothing. He was small, he was the vastness of everything; it felt as though his limbs extended and snapped back to him. Jongin shut his eyes tight against the nothing, and when he opened them, his pupils flooded them, expanding into a brilliant night sky. He saw both everything and nothing in that sky. Time and space collided within him. All the world, all the universe descended upon Jongin, crushing him underfoot; it sucked everything from him, ripping him open until he was an empty husk.

Only so the universe could pour itself into him.

Full with it, Jongin’s eyes cleared and he staggered up to stand tall in his tiny body. Fire seared his insides and white smoke rose from his skin; it billowed through his clothes and made his eyes water. He didn’t know where or what this strength was coming from. His mind couldn’t grasp the infinite pathways to everywhere that danced in front of him through the haze of the smoke. He had only one thought: he had to get between Jaeyong and his mom. He had to jump in front of her. The smoke turned black.

_Jump. He had to jump._

One moment he was standing behind his stepfather, the next he was in front of him. The swing intended for his mother caught his cheek and he fell again.

Breathing heavily, Jongin finally became aware of himself. He hadn’t just _jumped_ , he had _teleported_. His body had disappeared and reappeared. He had moved meters in front of him, around Jaeyong until he was facing him. The smoke from his skin dissipated, but his heart kept on pounding even as his mother reached her arms around him.

Jaeyong had been paralyzed with shock, fear keeping him still. But now he hissed, “Little _freak_ ,” and grabbed Jongin by the collar. He wrenched Jongin from his mother’s arms. “Just like your filthy mutant father,” he growled in his face, breath rank from coffee. “I should have known.”

Jongin squeezed his eyes shut, and then he was gone.

Now outside their door, he caught his breath, hand over his chest where Jaeyong’s hands had been. The guard rail nearly reached his chin when he stepped forward to peer out over into the city. He wanted to jump. _Jump._ Launch from the rail and exist elsewhere. He almost climbed up but—

But his mom was still inside. He wanted to run away. He finally could but _where would he go?_ And worse, what would happen to her?

He had to go back. He had to stay.

Jongin gripped the rail so tightly he was afraid he would pull it away when he jumped back inside. This time he was ready for when Jaeyong’s fist met him again, arms raised. The force knocked him off his feet once more, but this time… this time his mom caught him. She pulled him back, putting herself between him and Jaeyong.

 _No…_ thought Jongin helplessly. _No, I came to save you…_

Still, even with her shaking arms around him, every part of him told him to run. And Jaeyong wouldn’t stop. He felt himself flicker, but his mom held him tighter, shielding him.

 _Stay_ , he quietly decided. _I have to stay._

 

**10 YEARS LATER**

Before dispersing into the night, smoke clung to the twenty-year-old Jongin like choking vines. As it left his body, he sniffed, unwisely, taking in the acrid vapor of his travels, the all too familiar stench of ozone. Now filling the sky and his lungs, the ugly gray smoke swirled up over the city to dance among the already smog-thick air. Scowling, Jongin shoved his hands in the pockets of his torn-up black denim pants, hunched forward his broad jacket-clad shoulders, and strolled down the street. So practiced was he in this nonchalant action, if someone had indeed witnessed his appearing out of thin air, they would have written it off as a trick of the light.

But there were others with powers of that ability. Speak of the devil—from the corner of his eye, Jongin spotted a twinkle, a shimmer of light and then there stood Byun Baekhyun as though suddenly winking into existence. Startled, Jongin jumped—disappeared—only to reappear in the same spot, heart hammering and cheeks pink. His previously cool demeanor forgotten, that devil-may-care image was shattered, eyes wide like a spooked deer.

Baekhyun, beautiful and ethereal as light itself, giggled behind long, thin fingers. He had colored his hair since Jongin last seen him, or at least appeared to have, chestnut brown and suave. His eyes, always so changeable, were now a watery gray like a stormy sea. He looked… good. Jongin sighed, heartbeat steadying. He looked good. 

"How many times have you fallen for that?" snickered the photokin.

The flush over Jongin's face reached his ears and neck. "Shut up," he muttered, an embarrassed grin fighting for dominance of his features. He was glad it had been Baekhyun, and not one of the other scrappers. Teleporters had a bad habit of popping up when you least expected them, and Jongin was a mite too laughably skittish for that not to be exploited by his peers.

Baekhyun’s smile dimmed a little. "You on a Scrap run?"

"Recon. Casing a site," he answered simply. Maybe he shouldn’t have told him, but it wasn’t like Baekhyun couldn’t have figured it out himself. "What are you doing here, hyung?" he added hastily, cutting past the small talk and averting his eyes to squint into the smoggy, starless sky.

Baekhyun’s eyes followed his, blinking, and then pinpricks of light arranged themselves over the blanket of night. For a moment, Jongin let himself enjoy the view, dreamily wondering if it were just him or if others could see what Baekhyun had made for him.

Photokins, those who manipulate light, were among the most varied of Kinspeople; many who qualified for the title were of differing types. Shim Changmin, a leader of one of the oldest colonies in New Eden, could only manipulate artificial light produced by electronics and therefore could only produce his own by using the light provided by surrounding man-made electric sources. While Wendy Son of a colony for mostly English-speaking Edenites, could manipulate all light that was already present but could not create any of her own.

Baekhyun was particularly special in that he manipulated light in a way that he also could manipulate people's perceptions. He could change how something (or someone) refracted, reflected, absorbed, or otherwise interacted with light, especially for individuals. He could change colors perceived, produce his own or bend already existing light to his will, and even become invisible if he wanted to. He had been a damn good Scrapper because of it. But it had never been enough for him.

Jongin shook himself. He looked back at the beaming Baekhyun, the look on his own face making Baekhyun's fall.

"Same reason as last time," he replied seriously, "and the time before that."

"And the time before _that_ ," supplied Jongin, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably and sticking his hands in his jacket pockets. "My answer is still the same too. I'm not going with you." He continued walking down the dark, empty street.

"Jongin—" began Baekhyun, lurching forward to follow.

"You may be _above_ colony life, but I'm not gonna live a lie," he snapped haughtily, whirling on the balls of his feet. He teleported forward until he was just in front of Baekhyun.

He staggered back a little. "I never said I was—"

"You said enough," growled Jongin.

"Look," said Baekhyun. He put his hands up as if in surrender, pushing them forward a little, intending to touch lightly to Jongin’s chest then thinking better of it. "It's not like the colonies say, not how _Luhan_ says. There are places, _safe places_ , for… us. People like us."

" _Mutants_ ," spat Jongin, lips curled.

" _Kinspeople_ ," corrected Baekhyun patiently. He reached to comfort Jongin, but the other flickered, skin releasing smoke in anticipation for a jump. So Baekhyun retreated, outstretched hand trembling into a fist. He continued: "Our Kin, Jongin-ah. They don't use slurs. Not where I am."

"And where are you, some government facility? They give you a food stipend and an apartment and you think you're doing good while they do their little experiments?"

A wry smile found Baekhyun's face. "Is that what Luhan told you? I wouldn't believe everything he says."

"So it's not true?" demanded Jongin. "Why would he lie?"

" _To keep you from me!_ " he hissed. He paused, looking shocked at his own loss of composure.

Jongin took a step back, the hurt showing in his eyes, cold fingers clenching in his pockets. He wanted to hold him. He wanted to be with him. But… the colony was his _home_ , and he wouldn't leave it. Not even for Baekhyun. When they had first broken up, Baekhyun had whispered so softly he had very nearly not heard, "I thought _I_ was your home now," and that had been their end.

Baekhyun then amended through grit teeth, "To keep you _here_. Luhan's colony is falling. He fears integration."

"Then what? Where is this _Kin utopia_ you keep talking about?"

"It's not a _utopia_ … and it's not a 'government facility,' it's _ours_ , just Kinspeople."

"Oh, because segregation has always proved to be really good for us," quipped Jongin dryly.

"It's not like that!" exclaimed Baekhyun, too loudly. He continued in a hush, "We're in charge. Shit, you’re mad that I’m living in Western Korea with normals _and_ against segregation?" 

“No, I’m mad at _you_ , hyung,” hissed Jongin in response.

A heavy silence coated them. Baekhyun added hopefully, "Kyungsoo's there."

"You dragged Kyungsoo—"

"He's a scientist now, like he wanted. A real one too. That does sciencey things." He scrunched up his nose, that playful side of him that Jongin had fallen in love with showing through despite his frustration. Jongin missed that. Jongin missed him.

He missed both of them. When Jongin had left his stepfather’s place, Do Kyungsoo had been Jongin’s first Kin friend. A tiny, handsome kid with surprising physical strength and big, staring eyes and a quietness that spoke louder than anything Jongin could ever say to describe it. The haunt behind his long looks had a familiar quality to it that drew them close quickly when Kyungsoo had found Jongin shivering on the street. 

Together, they had found the colonies; Kyungsoo had plowed a hole right through the Divide like it was made of cardboard. Jongin suspected it was a rare bout of showmanship, as he could have easily teleported the both of them over it. He wasn’t normally one to show off; Kyungsoo had always had ambition outside his powers, as if those gazes of his were off into a distant future. A future where they could ever live like normal humans. 

A drop of happiness rippled through Jongin’s obstinacy, glad to hear his friend was finally seeing that future he had been looking for. But he doubted Kyungsoo’s sight wasn’t clouded by lies.

"We _can_ be ourselves, we can be what we always wanted to be,” continued Baekhyun. “You don't have to lie or hide or tone yourself down." He sighed, staring up into the stony eyes Jongin fixed on him. "Don't you see? Instead of finding scraps and building shit that barely runs you could use your powers to _benefit_ our people. Make a difference."

"That's not who I am, Baekhyun," he dismissed.

"Bull shit," defied Baekhyun, skin glowing with anger. "You're always standing up to and for others. When I came to work for the colony, I was a freak. They thought I was weak because my photokinesis was so different, and when they all ganged up on me you were the one who rescued me."

Jongin's cheeks warmed, and he had to look away again, burying his hands deeper in his jacket pockets. "Yeah, and then Kyungsoo had to save both our asses."

"Kim Jongin, that is not the point,” he sighed out, a short puff of air floating in front of him. “It was a fight you knew you couldn't win and you still stepped in. _That_ is who you are."

"I just don't like bullies," he countered weakly. He didn’t have to say why. Baekhyun knew.

"Where I am now, you can _do_ something about it." He added desperately, pleading, " _We_ could do something about it." Finally, he touched him, a soft and tentative pressure on his forearm.

Jongin let the touch linger for but a moment before he shook him off. Jaw set firmly, he swiveled on his heels to walk away. "You made your decision when you left. I'm staying with the colony."

 _Stay_ , the memory echoed.

His voice wavered when he said, "I'm not running away."

Suddenly the temperature dropped. Minseok, a cryokin in Jongin’s colony, was striding toward them. He was smaller than Jongin but stocky like a wrestler, with short-cropped hair and tight leather. His cherubic cheeks were the only part of him to soften the image of hardened scrapper.

Panicked by his appearance, Jongin quickly turned only to see Baekhyun shimmer out of sight. Swallowing thickly, Jongin nodded to his peer in greeting. If Luhan learned he was still in contact with Baekhyun, even in passing… 

"You think staying isn't running away,” added Baekhyun finally, whispering in his ear so quiet Minseok couldn’t hear. Jongin shivered at the breath against him. “But not moving forward is the same thing."

Jongin whirled around, halfway through Baekhyun’s name before he swallowed it down.

Baekhyun continued in that low murmur, “Luhan doesn’t tell you everything. He had a partner once; they ruled the colony together. Zhang Yixing.” His hushed voice receded as he added, “I’d like to introduce you someday.”

He stood rooted to the spot until Minseok interrupted his reverie, an icy finger poking him in the neck. Startled, Jongin teleported a whole meter away.

Minseok chuckled, waggling his frosted-over finger at Jongin. “We got a job to do,” he reminded him. “And we’re already late.” Then he flicked the same finger in his direction, tiny bits of freezing water speckling his face.

Jongin scrunched his nose in annoyance, but a smile reached his eyes. He cleared his throat. “Right,” he said as he easily cleared the distance between them, adding more smoke to the air. “Joint job, yeah? Chanyeol should be there?” For Jongin, it was easier to latch onto people rather than places when teleporting.

Minseok nodded. “Yifan too.”

“Seriously? We get the dragon?”

Park Chanyeol and Wu Yifan were co-leaders of another allied colony they sometimes scrapped with, and a deadly duo. Chanyeol was a powerful pyrokin and Yifan, a miasmakin, could manipulate air, specifically the gaseous elements it contained. Needless to say, they were explosive together. In fact, their combined abilities were oftentimes used to create the image of a perpetually flaming, terrifying dragon, a symbol of unity and power for their colony. It spelled out a very clear message.

With those two on their side, Jongin wondered why they needed him and Minseok at all. He supposed a stealth mission would benefit from a cryokin and teleporter, the dragon was simply a last minute precaution. He hoped. In any case, he was glad for the colonies teaming up. 

Today was a big job, a heavily guarded dump site for a car company. There, metals were determined whether they were worthy of being melted down and reconstituted for a new life. A scrapper’s wet dream, really. All the parts and metals, as well as equipment, were perfect for the colonies’ own builds.

“Let’s go,” he said, before taking hold of Minseok’s wrist and whisking them to the scrap site.

Chaos met them.

The site was in flames, molten metal oozing over heaps of car parts and what looked like—Jongin shuddered—human limbs. The stench of burnt hair and flesh filled their nostrils, the smoke from Jongin’s jump mingling with the blaze’s angry clouds. The site itself, had it not been afire, would have been what one would expect from a dump site: fenced off and filled with old junk, but inside were excess parts and waste piled so high it looked like a six-story building. Under any other circumstance, it would have seemed like someplace perfectly harmless at a glance. Jongin had thought, _was told_ , that this was a simple recon mission—they weren’t even going to _steal_ anything yet, but the armed-to-the-teeth guards that now surrounded them were telling him something else. 

Trying to gather their bearings, Jongin and Minseok took this all in a blink of an eye, only glimpsing both Chanyeol (who they had appeared beside) and the ablaze dragon before it converged on them in a terrifying fury of gas and fire. Its figure twisted the closer it got, becoming formless to their eyes—as if hell itself were swallowing them up. Jongin, a man who could move as quick as thought, remained paralyzed before the “creature”; it was Minseok who stepped up, arms raised to cast a protective dome of ice around them. 

The dragon persisted, superheated head disappearing into the ice and reforming every time it reared back, flapping its wings as if it were truly balancing itself over them and melting through their icy armor layer by layer no matter how quickly Minseok produced more around them. Barely cold droplets of melted ice flecked their skin. It was breaking through. 

Minseok yelled his name and Jongin snapped out of his trance, hooking his arm around Minseok’s waist; he was just about to teleport them to safety when—

“Chanyeol!!” they heard a deep voice yell, and the dragon vanished, leaving only smoke.

Jongin jumped Minseok outside the icy cage, face to face with Yifan. “S-sorry,” both he and Chanyeol stuttered in unison. 

They were side-by-side now, tall and daunting even as they bowed their heads in apology. They were both of them wide-framed, broad shoulders and chests accompanied by large hands and long legs. In this alone they were similar: Yifan was dyed blonde as if dipped in gold, ears pierced, with a sharply-angled jaw framing a tight-lipped mouth and deceptively cold eyes; whereas Chanyeol had a softer quality with a sloping nose, big round eyes with a permanent boyish, mischievous twinkle, and long, dark honey-hued hair pulled back in a ponytail. His smile was quicker than Yifan’s, the charm of their sovereign duo.

Their fingers laced together and the dragon burned back to life behind them.

The sudden appearance of Jongin and Minseok had shocked everyone to distraction, including the guards—but they had shaken themselves out of it now.

The quad barely processed what they were seeing before they launched into action. Gunfire deafened them all as Jongin grabbed Minseok’s arm to pull him to safety. He jumped behind a nearby car that had been cut clean in two. Chanyeol and Yifan followed soon after, the shape of their dragon flickering in the dimming twilight. Bullets ricocheted from directions impossible to determine, disorienting all senses.

Leaning against the warped steel, Jongin took a second look at their surroundings. It looked like a warzone. Piles of metal rubbish towered on the other side of the car they were hiding behind, but in front of them was a structure unlike any Jongin had ever seen. It wasn’t shaped like a pile of garbage, but a six-story building; as if they had built a skyscraper then hodge-podged it with rusted car parts.

Minseok crouched facing the colony leaders, cracking his neck. “Started the party without us?” he teased, but sweat rolled down his temple. He let out a quick, preparing breath.

Chanyeol smirked, responding wryly, “You can blame the uninvited guests.”

“I can teleport us all back to Luhan,” suggested Jongin. As long as everyone was holding onto him when he jumped, he wouldn’t have to take two trips. 

“No,” said Yifan, “we still haven’t got what we came for.”

Chanyeol read the surprised looks on the others’ faces. “Luhan didn’t tell you?”

“Tell us what?” asked Jongin.

“No time,” rushed Yifan, quickly peeking over the car to see three guards walking towards their hiding spot. “Incoming guests.”

Light on his feet, Jongin stepped back from their makeshift barricade, counting the surrounding guards that had found new targets: him and Minseok. Eight, no—he ducked—nine attackers from far vantage points added to the approaching “guests.” He hunched back down before the guards had another chance to shoot him, his palm landed on Minseok’s bent knee, jerking his head in the direction of the newcomers. “You got those?” he asked, but it wasn’t really a question.

Minseok’s knuckles cracked when he balled his fists, a ferocity like cold steel in his eyes. “Oh, I got this.” 

Jongin smiled, then looked to Chanyeol and Yifan. “I can take out the closer guards,” he began. “You got the ones out of shooting range?”

Yifan promptly nodded. “Dragon food.” He only had to meet Chanyeol’s eyes and their fiery beast took flight. They watched it soar off, dispensing destruction from their safe vantage point.

Just as Minseok struck the ground, spreading frost beneath the vehicle before it reached the hostiles’ ankles like snaking roots, Jongin turned to leave. The first six were easy. All he had to do was teleport behind them and knock them out. 

The seventh gave him some trouble, as he had seen how he had taken out the others. He whirled around at the first sound of his appearance, sending a glancing blow to the shoulder with the butt of his rifle. Sore, Jongin jumped behind him again before the man had a chance to shoot him. 

The eighth was a surprise, as the ninth was merely feet away, behind some brush, and began to fire at him. Quick as thought, Jongin sidestepped from the line of fire. A bullet grazed his flank and he hissed through grit teeth. He swore, flickering and covering the bloody wound with a hand. It wasn’t dire, but it fucking _stung_. It didn’t help that the distraction was enough to call the attention of Guard Number Eight.

Jongin ducked away from an attempted bludgeoning. Seamlessly, he dodged with both quick movements and teleportation, but avoiding Nine’s whizzing bullets was proving to be the real challenge. Apparently, this particular guard had no qualms about friendly fire, showing shock rather than remorse when a bullet intended for Jongin’s back found Eight’s gut.

He teleported at the last minute, to his assailant’s side. But before Jongin could incapacitate him, Nine wrenched to the side and shoved the rifle barrel to Jongin’s stomach. Jongin batted it aside, pushing forward at the other just to occupy his space before turning on his heel and teleporting behind him. Grappling, he managed to get his arms around the guard, in a sleeper hold. The man dropped his gun to scrape at Jongin’s arms, try to pry him off. He continued to struggle, throwing a sharp elbow into Jongin’s flank that made him gasp suddenly.

It was enough. His grip loosened, and the guard was able to twist his shoulders from his grasp. The guard looked ready to spin, and Jongin was ready for him—too ready. He’d feinted. Instead of turning around to face Jongin, he had only turned partway, and drew a pistol from a hip holster. He pointed it forward: directly where Jongin had just teleported to.

All Jongin could do was shut his eyes, no time to even jump. But when he waited, no pain came. He opened his eyes to see the man standing stock still, finger-trigger frozen and eyes roving in a desperate panic. Then he was engulfed in flames.

Jongin swore, feeling the heat of the dragon against his entire body, like standing over the mouth of a volcano, before he could jump back. He looked away from the flames before they stopped, avoiding having to look at the charred remains.

“ _Careful_ ,” admonished Minseok from behind, sidling up next to him. 

Jongin couldn’t tell who he was talking to, him or the leaders, but he quickly apologized anyway, bowing his head slightly.

Chanyeol and Yifan appeared shortly after, slightly out of breath from exertion. “I think that’s all of them,” said Chanyeol.

Minseok nodded, hands on his hips. “So what’s this top-secret mission?”

Chanyeol and Yifan were quiet a moment, exchanging glances. A silent conversation seemed to pass between them. Yifan was the one to speak when they turned back to them. “If Luhan didn’t tell you, he probably has his reasons.”

Jongin ground his teeth, jaw clenching in annoyance. More secrets.

Minseok was the one to speak up. “So, what’s your plan of action? You go in all gallant while we stand guard outside?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” answered Chanyeol with a shrug, lip jutting out.

Before either Minseok or Jongin could protest, Yifan put a hand in front of Chanyeol. “What he _means_ is that you’re our back up. We’ll send a signal if we need you.”

Minseok rolled his eyes, but looked to Jongin for approval. Jongin shrugged.

“Fine,” said Minseok, petulantly, like a child. He folded his arms in front of his chest. “What’s the signal?”

In answer, the dragon burst to life with a roar of fire. “You’ll know when you see it,” snarked Chanyeol.

This time Jongin rolled his eyes. Drama Kings. 

Jongin and Minseok didn’t have to stand guard for long, ripping off the sleeves of Minseok’s shirt, tying it around Jongin’s waist for a makeshift icepack for his wound. Jongin was carefully stretching against the building wall; Minseok idly freezing and unfreezing divet puddles in the ground. They were not fifteen minutes in, when an explosion concussed through one of the high windows, raining glass on them. But it was not the form of the dragon that had helped them defeat the army, it was a plume of gas and fire blasted through like a solar flare.

“Go!” shouted Minseok without hesitation, knowing he should still stand guard.

Jongin did as he was told, jumping to the room Chanyeol and Yifan were in. Again, he was met with chaos. The blast had ripped a hole in the wall and the floor was littered with flame, a long strip like a fence between them and a group of scattered and panicked people. Among them were more armed guards, but most of them had fear in their eyes. Jongin saw a couple lying on the ground, unsure if they were knocked out or dead. Chanyeol, too, was sprawled on the floor. Yifan was standing in front of him protectively with his hands held up, as if in surrender but he was keeping the fires high by feeding them oxygen and any gas accelerant he could add to the mix.

“Get him out of here!” screamed Yifan, concentrating on controlling the air on the other side of the fires so that the others couldn’t reach them.

Jongin nodded, but as he knelt by the unresponsive Chanyeol and picked him up, he said, “I’ll come back for you.” Before he could jump, time slowed as a deafening gunshot rang out through the room. Jongin ducked but he moved like he was trapped in tree sap, a mosquito in amber. The smoke in preparation for his jump coiled around him just as slow.

Yifan, however, was able to easily dodge the sluggish bullet coming right at him.

Then, he was suddenly speeding through the pathways of time and space, back to Minseok. Now time seemed to have sped up, everything happening too quickly for Jongin to process. What was going on? Minseok was fighting; Jongin was on his knees with Chanyeol’s limp body in his arms. The guards… there were more of them. Minseok and Jongin hadn’t been the only backup.

He tried to react, tried to stand, but it felt like he was underwater and everything else had been fast-forwarded. He blinked dumbly at the danger he was trying to face. Jongin could hear Minseok screaming his name behind him, then all sound stopped, everything went white.

Jongin awoke to Minseok crouched over him, Chanyeol pushed off his lap and lying, still motionless, beside him; the guard was a veritable popsicle in front of him.

“Ow,” he understated, hands splayed over a blasted abdomen. Blood flowed from him, each heartbeat making him weaker and weaker… 

“Fucking _shatter_ shells,” growled Minseok, trying his best to staunch the bleeding. “Your gut’s all torn up with shrapnel. _Shit_.” He looked back nervously at their other fallen comrade, asking, “What’s wrong with Chanyeol?”

Choking on a mouth full of regurgitated blood, Jongin gasped out, “I don’t know.” He tried to lean to the side and spit it out but he could barely move, most of it landing on his own cheek. His teeth and lips were stained red with it.

There was nothing to be done for Chanyeol, decided Minseok. Roughly, he smoothed a hand through Jongin’s hair to calm him, lightly tapping his cheek when his blink lasted a little too long. “I can slow the bleeding, but this is gonna need cauterizing before we get you to a healer.” He smiled grimly and amended, “ _If_ we get you to a healer.” 

Jongin’s eyes fluttered closed as if he was attempting to open them to wake from a dream.

Muttering, Minseok added, “Could really use you right now, Chanyeol.” He pressed his hand to Jongin’s gut, pouring his power into his palm to freeze the wound closed. The icy hand was clutched over Jongin’s abdomen and all Jongin could feel was _burning_.

Jongin screamed, teeth gritting and biting his tongue. If he drew blood, he didn’t know, he couldn’t distinguish it from the copper already in his mouth. All he knew was pain, the howl dying out into a weak whimper. Blood caught in his throat but he barely had the strength to cough. He stilled, lying motionless under Minseok’s touch.

“Buddy, open your eyes. I need you to keep looking at me,” babbled Minseok desperately. “Keep talking.”

“Don’t worry,” slurred Jongin, eyelids too heavy to heed the other’s request. “I can teleport.”

Then everything vanished.

✭

Jongin felt split down the middle, as if dreaming while half-awake. Warmth was spreading from his stomach through his limbs, a pleasant hum pulsing from that place on his abdomen. It seeped into him like hot water in a bath, strength flowing and filling him up. Peace. That’s what it was like. Utter peace. But then light was stinging his eyes through his lids, and he blinked back into the present.

Images blurred, but soon he saw the source of the warmth. Jongin smiled dreamily, brain slogging to comprehension. A man with soft, delicate hands had them splayed over his wound. The injury itself was small, but inside it had broken apart on impact and burst through his other organs. From the opening, the shrapnel was being pulled out as if in reverse. No, not pulled. Pushed. As if Jongin’s body knew to reject it.

The peace from before evaporated. Unable to move yet, Jongin panicked, heart hammering. The man, not four years older than Jongin himself, seemed to notice, palm sliding up his bare torso. Jongin’s skin tingled where he touched; a lovely buzzing at the base of his skull when the man’s nails dragged and pressed in more of that peace from earlier.

Jongin’s mind calmed again, heaviness gathering in his eyelids. _No…_ he protested silently.

The hand pressed flat just above his pectoral, over his heart. His heartbeat slowed, but he grit his teeth against the false calm. His strength rose within him, and he wrenched from beneath the stranger, falling from the table.

It was then—backing towards the wall, chest heaving with exertion—that Jongin was able to take in his surroundings. Apart from the stricken-looking, handsome young man defensively holding up hands stained with Jongin’s blood, the room was bare but for the table he had been lying on. The walls, too, were unadorned and a dull off-white color that made the edges seem fuzzy and out of focus. Where the hell was he?

“Who are you?” he demanded. “Where’s Minseok!?”

The stranger frowned. “Minseok… no, that wasn’t his name. Jong… Jong…”

“ _My_ name is Jongin.”

“Not _you_ ,” corrected the stranger irritably. “The one who brought you here. He tried to revive you, but he only gave you electrical burns.” His frown deepened until his face went blank in concentration, staring off into space.

Jongin waited, watching with skepticism and keeping his distance.

“Jongdae!” he burst out, causing Jongin to jump— _teleport_ —back into the wall.

With that jump, he felt whole again. Still, blood sloshed down his front from the rent in his stomach. He tried to keep pressure on the wound, but now that he was away from the healing hands of the stranger, the pain was nearly buckling his knees. He could see on the table a bowl with tiny bits of bloodied metal.

The other noticed Jongin’s grimace. “Let me heal you,” he told him softly. “It’s okay, you should be safe here.”

“Who are you?” repeated Jongin.

“I’m like you,” he said soothingly, and even his voice was comforting as he edged forward. “I’m Kin like you.”

Jongin’s back was against the wall now, but the man still came closer. “It’s okay,” he assured him, reaching out a hand. His voice was melodic, mesmerizing. Lips parted, the man lulled him away from fear, an outstretched hand ghosting over the skin of Jongin’s throat. “You’re safe here. Sleep.”

Jongin’s eyes rolled back in his head. A part of him fought to stay awake, but he was just so, so sleepy. And the man’s voice sounded so nice… He slumped into the other’s arms.

The man smiled, cheek dimpling. “My name’s Zhang Yixing.”

**Author's Note:**

> (part two coming soon)


End file.
